The Other Side of Glass
by sporksareweird
Summary: [Sequel to Through The Looking Glass] 3 months later, NotStockman wants revenge. Great...
1. Wake The Dead

Light from the full moon illuminated the old Bell Oaks cemetery. It was an obscure little place, well off the beaten path, which was mostly reserved for the burials of more well to do families. The Bell Oaks Presbyterian church had burned down years ago under mysterious conditions, but the wealthy paid a lot of money to keep the grounds clean so they and their loved ones could be buried in the same place as their ancestors.

A chill wind whistled over the mix of old and new gravestones. The gust caught the wrought iron gate and flung it wide, its ancient hinges creaking loudly in the otherwise silent night. The rusted out old lock that usually held it firmly closed was lying, smashed, on the ground. It had been demolished by the spade of a shovel only moments earlier.

A dark figure moved about the graves, stopping occasionally to check the tombstones. He knew the one he wanted, and the necropolis was so small that it wouldn't be long before he found it.

At last he came upon a freshly covered grave and knew it was the one he had been searching for. He shrugged off the bag he had been carrying, rooted through it, and finally drew out a small black box. He set it down cautiously and opened it slowly, careful not to spill any of the contents. If he made a mistake with his task the consequences could be dire.

He kneeled down and grabbed a handful of dirt off of the top of the grave and then sprinkled the dirt over the contents of the box. He closed it carefully and shook it a little. Satisfied, he searched through his bag for something else. He drew out a small torch and its holder. He poured some kerosene inside for fuel and struck a match to light it. The faint glow revealed the face of a man of Haitian descent who looked to be in about his middle thirties. His teeth were visible for only the briefest of moments as he grinned wickedly before the match was moved to light the wooden stake. It was placed in its holder, which was revealed to be a slightly cracked skull, and the two were positioned on top of the still unsullied tombstone.

He picked up his shovel, which had already proven useful, and began to dig. He had never thought that he would be stooping so low as to dig up a grave, but right now it served his purposes. He grinned again as he heard the dull thump that signified he was that much nearer to his prize.

Once all dirt was clear of the coffin, the man jumped back out of the grave and picked up the small box he had been using earlier. He opened it and took a small pinch of powder in his fingers. He threw it into the grave, where it scattered across the top of the coffin like falling rain. He then proceeded to draw a circle around the grave with the powder. Once that was accomplished he stood back for a second, almost as if he were admiring his handiwork. Then he rubbed the remaining powder onto his face and stepped back fully from the edge of the grave.

He put his hands together and raised his face to the night sky. He whispered a small prayer to the supreme god before beginning the incantation.

"_La vie a mort_

_La mort pour abattre_

_Se presenter, presente_

_Votre maitre vous attend_

_Pour faire attention a son mot._"

He repeated this over and over again, becoming more frenzied each time. Finally, he heard the sound that he longed to hear.

A dull thumping was coming from inside the grave. The lid of the coffin was being broken open…from the inside.

There was no one around for miles and miles, but if there had been, they would have heard a most disconcerting sound.

Hysterical, manic laughter resounded throughout the tiny graveyard. Had it been a little softer, our imaginary passersby might have heard the accompanying pitiful moan.

Miles away and deep beneath the streets of Manhattan, an old rat opened his eyes and raised his head; shaken from meditation by a feeling he couldn't explain.

To Be Continued…


	2. Breaking News

Hello there! This is the long awaited (well, maybe not, but it took me a long ass time to finally write and post this thingy) second chapter! Woot! I should hopefully be making weekly or bi-weekly updates. Yay!

* * *

"_Police are still baffled after the apparent theft of yet another body from an area graveyard. Crime scene investigators insist that all of the coffins have been broken open from the inside, further complicating the investigation. Chief of police Howard Zimms denies what he has been calling "crazy theories" about zombies, claiming that the police department has several suspects within its sights. After today's events, the number of thefts has risen to an outrageous 24. In other news..."_

Raphael leaned back and stretched, tuning out the next report about the stock market. _Bleh, who cares about that boring stuff?_ He thought. Mentally shrugging to himself, he glanced around the room at his brothers.

It had been three months since "the incident," as it was referred to, when it was referred to at all. Life had quickly returned to normal in the turtles' lair, but Raph knew that the run in with their other-dimensional counterparts had unnerved his brothers. It had certainly unnerved him.

Donnie had avoided his lab like the plague the first few days after they had returned, seeking someone, anyone, to help him occupy his time. He was mercilessly teased about his "new best friend" for a while, but he refused to seek sanctuary in his lab. Raph knew that Donnie had been terrified by his insane counterpart, and was trying to do everything in his power to avoid becoming like him. _Not gonna happen, _Raph thought determinedly.

Mikey had also sought the company of his brothers, but Raph doubted it was because of his exposure to his counterpart. Compared to his brothers, Not-Mikey wasn't really _that_ bad, though he didn't make any jokes (which actually might have been a good thing) and was kind of bipolar. _One minute he's your best friend, the next he hates your guts_, Raph mused. Also, he was a cold blooded murderer. _Oh yeah, can't forget that one_. Raph was convinced that Mikey had been more frightened by the insanity displayed by the other Not-Turtles, and wanted to convince himself that his brothers weren't heading in that direction. Raph smiled to himself when he realized that if any of them did start to wander down that path, Mikey would forcibly pull them off of it.

Leo had been meditating a lot more lately, but he was more thoughtful and analytic about the whole thing. It didn't even cross his mind that he would ever become like his ruthless, power-mad counterpart, of course. He could never become that bloodthirsty. What did bother him, though, was knowing that if he had been raised differently, he _could_ have been.

Raph knew this because Leo told him all about it. Since realizing that much of the hurt and devastation caused by the Not-Turtles was due to Not-Leo's competition with his red clad brother, Leo and Raph had started to talk more and try to understand each other more. The talking thing was going well, and in truth, Raph really enjoyed the time he spent with his older brother. But the understanding each other thing was a tad harder to accomplish. _Oh well, _Raph sighed. _At least we're trying._

As for himself, Raph was convinced that he was handling the whole situation rather well. He still sometimes saw Not-Leo run that poor man through with his sword when he closed his eyes at night, but overall Raph was taking the experience in stride. He _knew_ for a fact, deep down in his soul, that his family could never be that evilly dysfunctional. He was convinced that it was spiritually, emotionally, and physically impossible, and he took solace in that.

Looking at his brothers now, he knew that they were past the incident. With all of the crazy things that happened to them in their lives, they had to have pretty thick skin. Eerily, they were doing almost the exact same things they had been doing before Raph had gone into the bathroom on that fateful day. Mikey was reading a Silver sentry comic, Donnie was filling out a Sudoku puzzle, and Leo was re-reading Sun Tzu's _The Art of War_ for what had to be the thousandth time. Raph automatically glanced over toward the bathroom, but withdrew his gaze almost at once. _It's over, _he reprimanded himself. _Forget about it._

The newscast was over and Master Splinter, who had been seated on the couch next to Raphael, rose and addressed everyone in the room.

"My sons," he began, in a very concerned voice, "this report about stolen bodies has struck a chord with me somehow. I have been interrupted in my mediation many times over the past few weeks by an inexplicable feeling of foreboding. I fear we may all be in grave danger."

There was a beat of stunned silence. Leonardo was the first to recover.

"Would you like foe us to do some investigating, sensei?"

The aged rat looked thoughtful for a moment before nodding.

"Yes, my son, I believe that you may be able to find some answers. But, I must warn you to be very careful. Whatever this is, it is a great evil."

Mikey sighed and carefully placed his comic back into its protective plastic sleeve. "Man, I'm sick of 'great evils.' Why can't they just leave us alone?"

"Didn't they say the coffins were broken open from the inside?" Donnie asked, completing his tenth Sudoku in as many minutes.

"Yeah," Raph confirmed, getting to his feet.

"What!?" Mikey squeaked, pausing halfway through the act of standing. "You mean, like, zombies!?"

"Mikey, zombies are a product of voodoo. The person making the zombie induces a death-like trance within a person so that everyone thinks that they're dead when they're not. I believe it involves poison blowfish quills… The point is, zombies like you see in _Resident Evil?_ Can't happen," Donnie said calmly, placing his bo into its rightful place on his back.

"That doesn't make me feel any better, Don," Mikey said, glaring at him. "You're supposed to say 'Zombies don't exist. At all. Ever'."

"But that would be lying," the purple clad turtles pointed out amiably.

"So? It would make me feel better," Mikey mumbled, hands nervously fingering his 'chucks.

"Come on, you guys," Leo cut in, just as Donnie was about to respond. "Let's go."

* * *

Mikey chattered nervously about zombies, Milla Jovovich, and the music video for _Thriller_ as the four boys made their way through the Mossy Creek Cemetery. They headed for the grave of Steven McCormick, who had been buried only a few hours previous. When they finally found it, they all stopped dead in their tracks, and then dove behind a nearby mausoleum to remain hidden. 

A man was chanting something in French beside the grave, which had been dug up. As the chant became faster and more urgent, Raph could hear a thumping sound as well as some anguished groaning. Then there was an almighty, splintering crunch, and the chanting ceased. Raph peered around the corner of the mausoleum just in time to see the man, who was Haitian as far as he could tell from the flickering light that issued from a skull shaped candle holder, step back to allow something (presumably Steven McCormick) to scuttle out of the grave.

Mikey whimpered, indicating that he, too, had witnessed the bizarre happenings. Raph turned to look at Don and Leo. The former looked flabbergasted, while the latter just looked grim.

Raph started to move out from behind their hiding place, but Leo grabbed his arm.

"Let go of me, Leo," Raph growled, trying to shake off his brother's grip.

"No, Raph, let's not engage here. Let's follow them to see what they're up to."

Raph was about to protest when Donnie added, "If we attack them here, we have to guarantee that the guy will talk. Heck, we don't even know if he speaks English."

Raph relented and Leo let go. The foursome then noticed that the man was leading the "zombie" away toward the back of the graveyard. The turtles followed silently.

* * *

They tailed the mysterious duo for more than an hour. The Haitian man seemed to sense that he was being followed but, being ninjas, the turtles were able to avoid detection. There was a very close shave when Mikey's stomach rumbled and he whimpered that he was hungry. The Haitian had whipped around and nearly saw the orange banded turtle, but Donnie had pulled him out of sight just in time. 

Finally, the man and the _zombie_, for lack of a better term, slipped into a dilapidated warehouse down by the docks. The turtles stopped and looked at Leo, who indicated that the four of them should make their way onto the roof.

When Raph looked down through the cracked skylight, he had to cover his own mouth as well as Mikey's to keep them both from gasping audibly.

"Well, I think we know where the stolen bodies have gone to," Leo whispered.

The warehouse was swarming with blank-eyed people. The wandered aimlessly about, their ashen skin dully reflecting the moonlight that streamed in from the skylight the turtles were peering through.

Mikey whimpered behind Raph's hand and the red clad turtle shot him a warning glance. Brown eyes widened behind red fabric as he counted the "zombies" and came up with a staggering twenty-five. Leo caught his eye and nodded sourly, affirming that he was surprised by their numbers as well as indicating that he was not too happy with it.

The Haitian man chose that moment to step into the light and raised a crystal, which was glowing a deep blood red. The zombies stopped their milling about and formed themselves into strictly regimented lines so that they formed a five by five square. They all turned their vacant stares to the Haitian, as if awaiting orders.

"It's like an army," Donatello breathed, edging closer to the glass in an attempt to better make out what was happening in the warehouse.

"Yeah, an army of ZOMBIES!" Mikey squawked, backing away.

"Both of you, hush," Leo commanded quietly.

The Haitian man then spoke in a thick French accent. "My soldiers, it is time for you to perform your duty. You must serve your purpose. You must honor your master. You must find these vile creatures, these Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, and you must destroy them!"

The battalion

Of undead let loose with a horrible, atonal screech. Raph scowled when he saw that their eyes now glowed a deep blood red, to match the crystal. _It must be how he controls these things_, the thought dourly. The crystal itself glowed sickly against the Haitian man's face, revealing his wicked grin.

As the zombies began lurching out of the warehouse, groaning and wailing like extras from _Night of the Living Dead,_ Mikey turned wide, fear-filled eyes upon the rest of the group.

"Oh man. You guys, we are so screwed."

* * *

A/N: Hmmm... I had myself convinced that this was longer than it really is. Oh well. 


End file.
